its rosy volumes up
the chimney, and threw its reflections on the shining shelves and into
the great tin-kitchen, that, planted firmly, held up to the heat the
very bird that had moved so majestically over the spring meadow, and
which Mrs. Vennard was at present basting with such assiduity, that, if
ever the knife should penetrate the crisp depth of envelope, it would
certainly find the inclosure unscathed by fire. Little Jane was stirring
enormous raisins into some wonderful batter of a pudding,--for she
remembered the time when somebody used to pick out all his plums and
leave the rest, and she meant, that, so far as her skill and her
resources would go, there should be no abatement of Christmas cheer
to-day. And if, after all, everybody disdained the bounteous affair, why
it could go to Tommy Low's mother, who would not by any means disdain
it. Every now and then she turned an anxious ear for any movement in the
cold distance,--but there was only silence.

Suddenly Vivia started. A door had swung to, a strange sharp sound
echoed on the staircase, the kitchen-door opened and closed, and Ray set
his back against it. He did not attempt to move, but stood there darkly
surveying them. Vivia looked at him a second, then rose quickly, crossed
the room, and kissed him. Immediately Mrs. Vennard made a commotion,
while the other led him forward and placed him in her chair. Little Jane
pushed aside the pudding hastily, and proceeded to mull some of her mock
Sherry, that his heart might be warmed within him; and the cat came
rubbing against his crutch, as if she would make friends with it and
take it into the family. Mrs. Vennard resumed her basting; Vivia began
talking to him about her work and about her walk, murmuring pleasantly
in her clear, low tone,--Janet now and then putting in a word. Ray sat
there, sipping his spicy draught, and looking out with an unacquainted
air at the stir to which his coming had lent some gladness. But his face
was yet overcast with the shadows of the grave. In vain Mrs. Vennard
fussed and fidgeted, in vain little Jane uttered any of her brisk, but
sorry jesting, in vain Vivia's gentle voice;--it all touched Ray's heart
no other way than as the rain slips along a tombstone. Vivia folded her
work and disappeared; she was going to light a fire in her parlor, where
there had been none yet, and where by-and-by in the evening shadows she
might play to Ray, and charm him, perhaps, to rest. Mrs. Vennard d